I wanted to share something funny that happened the other day, which will require a little bit of background:

Relevant datapoint the first: I went to a four day long Burning Man decom festival (Youtopia) this past weekend, and as someone who neither likes nor has extensive experience with festivals or camping, I had a massive packing list of minutiae to make sure I didn’t forget something important so that at the very least my tent would be a safe comfortable space in which to retreat from the mayhem. I was massively victorious in my camping pre-work, and the festival was amazing fun, not only because of the content, but mostly because of the quality of the company (I love each and every member of the circus and the rest of their adopted extended family fiercely and deeply). A double-plus, would festival again. There was one setback in which one of the giant tubs of water I bought burst in my trunk the day before I left, and after four days sitting all shut up in the sun, my car stinks of mildew. So driving around the last few days I’ve had all four windows down with the rear seats down to air out the trunk.

Relevant datapoint the second: Because of a bunch of recent endorsements, and my own building ennui with my music library, I finally sucked it up and got Spotify premium. And because of a lot of things I’ve been thinking about lately, I’ve been trying to keep my spirits bolstered by listening to stuff that is not my usual contingent of mopetastic shoegaze bands. This translates directly into obsessive abuse of the 70%-unlimited-wonderful/30%-holy-shit-this-song 80’s radio station.

Relevant datapoint the third: I live in San Diego. There aren’t many strong indicators of the change of seasons here. For example – this is one of my favorite houses in my neighborhood all dolled up for Christmas a few years back:

So I was driving home from work the other day on the highway, all of my windows down, warm(ish) October air blowing my hair in all directions, palm trees all around me, blasting 80’s music and this song comes on:

I can’t help myself. I start singing along. At the top of my lungs. And I became so joyously happy because, in that moment, I had become something that John Hughes had always promised me I would become:

For four minutes and fifty one seconds I BECAME A MOTHERFUCKING 80’s MOVIE.

1 Response to That time that Kelly lost her mind for four minutes and fifty one seconds

I finally work up the nerve to stalk your blog too… It’s neat to read things you write. (I realize that sounds like I’m an adolescent boy with a poorly-formed crush on you, but I guess that’s kind of how I feel sometimes…) Anyway, I enjoy your art. Thank you.